


Give Me Love

by Destiel_is_Classic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:12:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiel_is_Classic/pseuds/Destiel_is_Classic
Summary: Dean can't feel anything pass the alcohol, the numbness, the nothing.





	

Stumbling over his coffee table, the man landed hard onto his sofa with a grunt of pain but no further noise or movement rose from him until his tongue ran dry and the bottle was tilted back against his lips. Closing his eyes as the liquor burned down his throat he ignored the loneliness building in his chest to settle against his heart tightening his throat. Tears prickled the edge of his eyes but he refused to let them fall; no matter how many times he tried to blink them away they spilt down his cheeks to dry against his shirt. They’ve fallen so frequently as of late that permanent tracks marked his freckled skin, reminding him of his heart break every time he glanced in the mirror. The cuts across his knuckles proved he couldn’t stand the reminder any longer and he had snapped, ripping apart the bathroom until he was a drunken bleeding mess left to find on the dirty floor. 

 

When the buzz filled his veins he would grab his phone and pull up the name etched across his heart; it had been so long but the sting against his heart never dimmed. With numb fingers he’d dial the number and listen to it ring but so long ago it stopped playing the voicemail and simply reminded him the number had been disconnected. Cold bitterness burned across his chest when the mechanical voice told him that it had been too long without hearing his voice; too long without feeling the touch of his kiss or the smell of his hair after a shower. Every now and then he’d break and call his brother to cry against or drink with until Sam forced him to put the bottle away and get some sleep. 

 

Dean was so tired of sleep. 

 

He hated waking up to an empty bed and an even emptier apartment that reminded him he was alone and there was no love to give him greetings for the day. His routine would begin again, work until your hands bleed, drink until you can’t breathe, cry until you can’t see and repeat. Sometimes the rhythm would break and he’d scream or shout or break something just to feel the pain left inside of him. When he let the burn flow through him without the numbing medicine of alcohol he could feel him in his arms or pressed against his side on the bed. He could smell the old spice he’d become so fond of or feel the brush of his stubble under his chin when he would nuzzle against him. The sight of someone’s blue eyes or the sound of a bee flying by would send him into panic attacks that shook him to his core until he was a crying mess tucked away in some secluded corner of the world wishing for the darkness to sweep him under its rug. 

 

He never got his wish. 

 

Day after day he’d wake up to the same routine over and over begging for it to end; begging for him to come back. He’d call again in the dead of the night but the same damn mechanical voice would tell him the number was disconnected and the tightness in his throat was replaced by the burning of the alcohol, “I just want to hold ya,” He’d whisper to nothing in the morning light when he was forced to acknowledge another day. Every now and then he could pretend he wasn’t gone and this was some sick game of hide and seek and he was just a little good at hiding and Dean was a little too bad at finding. It was all some game and he’d come out in the end with a tilt of his bed head and a smile to warm the numbness away so that Dean felt real and alive and right again. He’d step through the apartment door and laugh at the mess Dean left in the living room, he’s toss his worn trench coat over the counter and give Dean a sigh before pressing a kiss to his cheek as a hello. Dean would rise from the couch and wrap his arms around his waist and he’d smile while looking into Dean’s eyes, “Give me love?” He’d ask in his too gruff, working voice and Dean would do just that. Dean would put the bottles away, wrap him in his arms and kiss him until the tension cleared out of his shoulders, until he was melting against Dean’s chest with a look of pure love that set Dean on fire. 

 

“Give me love,” Dean croaked at the ceiling, tears spilling down his cheek to dry into his shirt and leave another track for his eyes to follow in the broken bathroom mirror, “Give me love,” He cried out in anger and desperation for someone to hear; someone to answer, “give-give me love,” He dropped the bottle. The glass clanked against the wooden floor and for just a moment Dean heard him tsking at him for leaving the living room in such a disarray, for just a moment he felt the pressed of his hand to Dean’s cheek and for just a moment the ghost of Cas gave Dean love before the numbness ended.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a spontaneous writing that came to me and was graced enough to be the first post on this site. Don't be to harsh but be honest, Its not the greatest but hopefully some will love it.
> 
> Based off Give Me Love by Ed Sherran


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